Double Flee A

This story's a couple days old, but the more I thought about it the more I thought I ought to put it up here. From this The New Yorker story, a suicide poem thought to be by Honest Abe when he was 29:

Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do,
And this the place to do it:
This heart I’ll rush a dagger through
Though I in hell should rue it!

Sweet steel! Come forth from out your sheath,
And glist’ning, speak your powers;
Rip up the organs of my breath,
And draw my blood in showers!

I strike! It quivers in that heart
Which drives me to this end;
I draw and kiss the bloody dart,
My last—my only friend!

Pretty wild eh?

Also yesterday's, this is a good print at work article about the emotional costs associated with the service economy.

posted by dale @ 10:25 AM